Life Will Never Be the Same
by AgentCarter
Summary: Autopsy inspired fic. House and Cuddy had a child that died from Tay Sachs Disease. Occurs during/after Autopsy. ONESHOT.


I know I should have been working on the next chapter of Almost Perfect but this idea came to me while I was re-watching series 2 and I couldn't really do anything else until I'd got it out. Hopefully the next chapter of Almost Perfect will be up sometime next week. There may be a prequel to this but it depends on how well this goes down and when I finish some other stuff.

When I was watching Autopsy, something about the way House looked when Andie hugged him and Cuddy walked away just made me want to write something so here it is. Although I put a fair amount of research into it, parts may still be wrong because I either didn't research deeply enough or manipulated to fit what I wanted to happen.

Disclaimer: I don't own House. The title comes from a song by Lemar called "Call Me Daddy."

* * *

Seeing House's reaction to Andie wrapping her hands around his middle, showed her that he too was thinking about the event that had occurred seven years ago. When she had hugged the young girl to her chest, she had pushed her memories to the back of her mind, genuinely happy that the sick child would get that extra year of life, but when it came to House's turn she could only watch the initial exchange between them until the memories surfaced and she had to make her escape. She had offered Wilson a small smile and then made her way through the numerous doctors and nurses to her office. And here she was sat, ten minutes later, slumped in the armchair beside the doors, her face in her hands as she rubbed at her eyes. No tears had fallen but the threat had been too big to risk staying out in the lobby for much longer.

There was a knock at her door and she quickly pulled herself together, straightening in her seat and grabbing a discarded file from the coffee table, as though carefully looking through it, as Wilson popped his head around the door.

"Hey. Is there something you needed?" Cuddy asked, offering her friend a soft smile.

Wilson shook his head, entering the office and moving over to the sofa next to her chair. "Not really. I just wanted to see how you are…" He said, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

Cuddy looked at him, knowing what he was talking about but trying her best to convey as much confusion in her expression as possible. "I'm fine."

"You don't need to pretend to me, Cuddy."

Cuddy dropped the file back onto the table with a sigh. "I'm fine, Wilson. _Really_," She stressed at his disbelieving look. "It was just strange seeing him with her, that's all."

Wilson gave a small nod. "I know." He said softly. They sat in silence for a moment, just looking into space before Wilson spoke up again. "He never really spoke about it, you know. Just buried it along with the rest of his past."

Cuddy remained silent as Wilson stood and made his way to the door.

"Don't do what he did. If you need to talk about something, you know where to find me." He offered with a smile before leaving the room and heading out to the clinic to start his scheduled hours.

Cuddy remained sat in the chair for a few more minutes before finally getting up and moving around to her desk. She would be fine and House would no doubt deal with any memories in whichever way he knew how.

_

Thirty minutes stood between House and going home but he had no clinic hours and no patient. Foreman had waved a file of particular interest under his nose but it turned out the patient was using the drugs that they had fervently denied using for a good three hours until House made the team run all the blood work again as well as a hair and urine test. Now, with his iPod on and up loud, he was making his way through the lobby he and many other doctors had said goodbye to the still dying – albeit somewhat slower – girl, until he spotted Cuddy stood at the nurse's station speaking to one of the receptionists. He walked a bit faster hoping that she wouldn't see him trying to make his early escape from the confines of the hospital. The absence of her presence right in front of him made him hazard a glance in her direction and he slowed upon seeing her watching him make his way to the doors. They made eye contact and he offered her a slight nod before continuing on his journey through the lobby and out of the hospital.

His car was in the shop and Wilson was too much of the ideal employee to leave early so House made his way to the bus stop, the sound of Elvis Costello in his ears. As he neared the bus stop, he slowed at the sight of a bike dealership and came to a stop in front of a black motorcycle, staring at it as Wilson's words came to mind.

"_She could outlive you." _

He could hear someone talking as he stared at the bike but whether they were talking to him or not didn't make any difference, he was lost in thought as everything from that morning surfaced, dragging previously locked away memories with it.

"Right leg?"

He finally snapped out of his trance as he realised the voice was indeed talking to him, and removed the buds from his ears. "Huh?"

"Right leg?" The salesman spoke again. "You can still ride. Got excellent financing right now. Lists for ten – eight but I'll let you steal it for ten – three."

House shook his head. "No thanks." He turned to walk away, the thought of the little optimistic, but dying, girl in his mind, before he turned back to the salesman. "Can I test drive one of these things?"

_

He'd missed it. Jumping on a motorcycle. The bike offering the mobility that he no longer had in his legs as he wove through the traffic. The potential dangers of riding in heavy traffic, being enough to take his mind away from anything that had plagued him throughout the day. And as the open stretch of road grew ever closer, all he could think about was how much he wanted this bike. A bike. Any bike, so long as he got one. This was a better feeling than that of drugs and alcohol, at least with a motorcycle, he wouldn't wake up with a hangover the next morning. He was going to get the bike and show Wilson that he had plans of living. He was pretty sure he could even come up with a way to get Wilson to pay for it. He smirked at the thought, shifting gears and pushing the bike to its top speed.

After fifteen minutes of riding, House slowed as a set of black gates and a brick building came into view. Making his way through the open gate, he rode the motorbike through in to the car park and dropped his feet as he set the bike in a spot. With both hands, he swung his right leg over the side and stood up. He had to leave his cane back at the dealership and winced slightly as he took his first step. As he removed his helmet, hooking it in the crook of his elbow and then pulled out his Vicodin, he figured he'd have to get his bike adapted so that he could take his cane with him wherever he went. After replacing the bottle in his blazer pocket, he looked around before picking the left hand path and walking along it. It had been seven years since he had been there last but he made his way through the cemetery as though a regular visitor. After a right turn, he walked about twenty meters, glancing at every headstone until he took another left and continued to limp a further thirty five meters, there it was. The headstone he was looking for.

_Zoë Alice House_

_20/03/1993 – 04/09/1998_

_A Happy Child Right To The End_

House took a step forward until he was stood right in front of the polished black stone, looking down at the dirty, worn bear at the base, surprised that it was still in the same spot he had placed it seven years prior before he had eventually walked away without turning back. A few more minutes of standing and staring, he eventually gave into the weakness in his leg – the pain itself dulled by the earlier Vicodin – and sat in front of the grave and the bear, his left knee bent while his right lay stretched out in front of him. He placed the helmet on the ground next to him and wrapped his arms around his left leg, hands clasped over his shin, and sat staring at the gold lettering until everything blurred together.

He didn't know that a one night stand with Cuddy would have resulted in anything more than fond memories of a great lay. But she had called him seven weeks later to tell him she was pregnant and that she didn't expect anything from him but she was keeping the baby. He was adamant that he wasn't going to have anything to do with the kid until a month before Cuddy's due date, he turned up on her doorstep – having procured the address through his usual methods of cheating, lying and stealing – claiming that his mother would never forgive him and his father would laugh, pleased in the knowledge that he knew his son would shirk his responsibilities. He was soon to start a new job in Denver and Cuddy was on maternity leave from Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital but they spent the few spare days he had, working something out.

The day he first held his daughter, a week after she was born, was one that not only frightened him, but filled him with awe. The being in his arms had half his genes and he could think of nothing but running away and never returning. But his feet wouldn't move. His arms wouldn't place the baby back in her basinet next to the white bear he had brought with him. And his eyes wouldn't leave her face. He was trapped and yet the feeling was nowhere near as suffocating as he had originally thought.

He received a picture from Cuddy three weeks later of his daughter smiling and immediately booked his plane ticket to witness it first hand. That weekend, Zoë was known only as 'Smiler' and she lived up to her nickname.

He visited at least once a month until he lost his job in August, Cuddy allowing him to stay with her and Zoë while he looked for a new job. Two weeks later, the dean of John Hopkins was prepared to give him a chance, despite his med school misdemeanour and he reluctantly moved into his own apartment in Baltimore. The distance was better but not good enough. He tried to fly out at least every other week.

She had her first seizure at eight months, fifteen days. He was on his way before Cuddy's mom got the words out of her mouth. Two days later she was back at home, the doctors having no clue why she had had the seizure in the first place but placing her on anti seizure meds just to be safe. House refused to give up until he found out what caused the seizure. John Hopkins fired him for not turning up to work.

She didn't smile when he held her up and blew a raspberry on her stomach after changing her. He froze, lowered her and stared into her sparkling grey blue eyes. She looked happy. He did it again. A gurgling laugh – well, at least he assumed it was a laugh – escaped from her mouth but she wasn't smiling. He read through the same journals once he put her down for her nap, this time adding 'no longer smiling' to the previous seizure symptom. Cuddy came home and he told her all about Tay-Sachs disease. She refused to believe him, even after seeing that their daughter was no longer smiling at the things that usually produced a toothless grin. Two weeks later, a few days after Christmas, Zoë stopped crawling, instead just laying where she was placed and crying. Once Zoë was put to bed, House watched as Cuddy paced around her living room adamantly refusing any sort of testing. He considered doing it without her knowing but in reality, he wasn't sure he wanted to know either.

In January, he had a job interview with the dean at New York Mercy. A hysterical Cuddy greeted him when he got back with news that Zoë was struggling to make and keep eye contact. He nodded solemnly and made his way to the nursery to see for himself.

At nine months and twenty five days, Zoë Alice House was diagnosed with Tay-Sachs disease. He let a tear of his own fall once Cuddy had cried herself to sleep in his arms, the test results scrunched up in his fist.

She had made it past her fifth birthday, defying the paediatricians and experts in the field who had told them that a child suffering from Tay Sachs Disease, rarely made it beyond the age of four.

House let out a sigh as shadow was cast over him interrupting him from his thoughts. He refused to acknowledge their presence even when they sat down in the grass beside him, placing some flowers next to the soft bear.

"To what do I owe this pleasure, Cuddy?" House asked facetiously still looking at the gold lettering on the headstone.

"I'm not here to see you." She replied calmly, not allowing him to get to her in front of their daughter's grave. "I wasn't expecting to see you." She turned to look at his profile. "You never come here, House. Why today?"

House rolled his eyes and looked at her. "You're not an idiot, Cuddy." He said simply. "Don't insult those that are by pretending."

They looked into each others eyes for a moment before House broke the eye contact and looked away.

"When Andie walked over to you – "

"Cuddy," House warned, his voice low and dangerous.

"What, House? You don't want to remember her or you don't want to remember _that_ moment?" A few tears were falling down her cheeks but her voice remained steady and calm. When he didn't answer she continued.

"The day she pushed herself out of that chair and wrapped her arms around you, was one of the proudest days of my life." Cuddy took in a deep breath. "I never thought I'd see her walk again…"

House nodded remembering the day vividly. He'd quickly stopped by after work to check on Zoë who seemed to finally be recovering from the chest infection he thought would be the one that would kill her. He'd spent the past few nights at Cuddy's place during the worst of the infection and he needed to pick up his things before meeting Stacy for dinner. She had cried when he'd first tried to leave and no amount of comfort from Cuddy or promises from him had managed to calm her down. It took ten minutes of tears and Cuddy's reassurances before he attempted to leave again but before he even left the living room, a gasp from Cuddy made him turn around again in time to see Zoë stand on shaky legs and take a short shuffling step towards him. Both he and Cuddy were in shock as she continued to shuffle towards him. She wobbled slightly and both were quick to move to catch her, Cuddy being the closer of the two keeping her standing and walking behind her daughter as she continued her long shaky journey to House who was stand just outside the living room. After almost a minute, she made it and fell into him, her arms wrapping around his thighs. He had called Stacy a little while after to tell her he'd be spending another night away from her.

House slowly got to his feet and looked down at the grave, ignoring Cuddy was now looking up at him squinting against the sun.

"Do you miss her?" Cuddy asked him quietly. He didn't answer and she spoke up again. "You never come here, House. It's like you just…forgot…"

"I don't need to come here to remember her." He answered, his voice low and his gaze still not meeting hers. "Yes, I…I…" He let out a sigh and turned to look at her as she too rose to her feet. "Sometimes children get sick – are born sick. Sometimes they live with it, other times the disease wins and there's nothing we can do about it. We just have to deal with it and carry on."

His eyes held no emotion as he spoke while hers continued to glisten from the tears.

"See you tomorrow, Cuddy." He bent down to swipe his helmet from the ground and walked away, leaving Cuddy standing alone beside their daughter's grave.


End file.
